


It's Not A Game If There's No Way You'll Lose

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Public Use, Ritual Public Sex, Rough Sex, Victory Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10693842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Entering the games is a bargain.





	It's Not A Game If There's No Way You'll Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silkstocking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/gifts).



Entering the games is a bargain. That much is universally known, and not at all unexpected. Victory is a ticket to a different life, and no even the most naive will understand that those never come free. And it's not like he's putting his life on the line, he figures; the worst that could come out of a loss is a few hours of ceding ownership over his body. People might look at him differently after, but, all things considered, they don't look at him very kindly now either. At least then he will have tried. At least then he'll have taken the chance. He's strong and fast and talented; it's not entirely foolish. Long before he's off age and able to register as an athlete, he decides doing so is going to be the only way to changing the deck live has dealt him. 

 

*** 

 

Like most people, he watches the games every month. The reason for this is twofold: he's means of training are limited, and he does not have a tutor. Watching is a way of learning, and he might have to take every opportunity for that. The other is preparation: he watches the consummation ceremony afterward, always, preparing himself for what happens when he loses. Not if; when. He's realistic enough to know that he won't succeed on the first try. He hasn't got the means that the professionals athletes have, but every contestant receives personal training before the came and that, that is what he'll need to eventually make is way to the podium. 

In the meantime, he'll have to deal with the consequences of losing. 

 

***

 

The men who lost have different reactions to the ceremony. Some drag their feet, as if the thought that they might end up on display in the center arena did not occur to them. Those are usually the well-trained professionals who fell on a bad day. They will have the audience cheer the hardest, too, because the audience mostly consists of people like him who have to fight hard for every shot to better their own fate, and they love watching someone who thought themselves superior be put in their place. 

Then there are those like him, who fought hard for this chance, for whom becoming an registered athlete in the first place is already a win. They might grind their teeth but they'll walk into the arena with their heads held high and a determined expression on their faces, much like they did throughout the whole game.

Lastly, there are the few who bare themselves with genuine excitement, for whom this isn't a punishment or a loss at all. They're hard before anyone has even touched them. They wink at the cameras and look at the audience like they're about to be given a gift, and everyone in the ranks will contribute a little piece of it by watching their consummation. 

 

*** 

 

It's one of the latter that has him, one day, stick a hand down his underwear while watching the broadcast. That has him consider that maybe that's the best way to deal with the prospect – to take it as a gift. He watches him smile wide when the first hand wraps around his already straining erection, when the three highest placed athletes take turns fucking him, when he sinks down in front of the winner who demands to be sucked off, just to pull away at the last second and spilling all over his chest and face. 

By the time the spectacle is over, the man on the screen is filthy and not even able to get hard anymore from coming so often, and he's lying on his bare mattress in his small apartment and breathing hard himself, hand still wrapped around his spent cock. 

 

*** 

 

He registers on the very day of his twenty-first birthday. Weeks of tests and examinations follow, weeks of waiting, but in the end there's the letter that tells him he got accepted, and lists place and date of his first day of training. He does well; his first games happen only a few weeks later. 

As expected, he does not win. Not yet. His trainer smiles at him after, encouraging, to tell him he did well for a first effort and he'll have solid chances to get to the podium eventually if only he keeps trying. 

He watches the celebration for those who made it to the podium with both dread and excitement, and he's slightly disappointed when another name is drawn as their plaything for the consummation. 

 

*** 

 

The next game, he's spared as well, and the one after that, and so on. The margin by which he misses the podium becomes smaller; everyone tells him he learns quickly, and he'll get good enough to make his life's dream reality very soon. But not yet. Not quite yet. 

He placed fifth on the day that his name is read for the consummation. 

He's strangely calm while he's led into the baths, washed by servants who touch him mechanically. The one who prepares him for the ceremony doesn't meet his eyes as he oils up his lower body, puts a finger inside him with the single focus of someone who does this every month, to complete strangers who might either shy away from him or push back on the intrusion. He closes his eyes and allows his body to react, and mourns the loss of contact when he's declared open and ready. The erection that had built between his legs wilts when two guards walk him into the arena, but he enters it with his chin up and a proud smile on his face. Not long now, and he'll be a winner. This is but a small bump in the road. 

 

***

 

Today's winner is the first to touch him, hesitant about it, almost as if waiting for permission. He gives a small nod and smiles. Hiding from this will not get him anywhere. He'll draw what enjoyment he can get, and walk out of the arena unbroken. 

The audience whoops when the runner up takes over, wraps an arm around his neck from behind and hauls him backward, pushing out his crotch, instructs the winner to tease his cock while he himself fingers his already loosened hole. Their touch is rough, but not unskilled. He closes his eyes and lets his body react. The third drops to his knees and fondles his balls, closes his mouth around the head of his cock. Once he's hard, he's turned around, made to be bent over, and there's a collective groan from the audience at seeing him spread before the runner ups lines up behind him and pushes in. 

 

*** 

 

The rest happens in a blur: hands on him, hands inside him. He comes the first time when the winner takes over in fucking him – good at what he does, in this too – and the second time when he's laid out on his back and sucking the runner ups dick while the other two take turns jerking him off, a game of stop and start until the world narrows down to nothing but the need that's pooling low in his belly. 

The third time is a surprise; a week spurt that's almost painful, dribbling out of his oversensitive cock when the winner has him over his knee, offering his hand to hold while the runner up lets a whip rain down on his ass that he liberated from one of the guards. The audience claps at that, and he imagines what it's going to be like when they're going to cheer like that to celebrate his win. 

It doesn't end there. There's more touching, more fucking, he's chocked, taken by two of them at once. Time slips away from him at some point, but he thinks it's one of the longer ceremonies; he's beyond exhausted by the time he's led out of the arena and washed again, then led to his quarters where finally, finally, he's allowed to rest. 

Before he falls asleep, he imagine that, somewhere out there, there's a kid just like he used to be, watching everything that's been done to him as a way to steel themselves for their own attempt at a career in the arena. 

 

***

 

It's eight more games before he takes his own win – making podium in second place, knowing he's never going to have to worry about a thing again – and his name is drawn two more times. His own sacrifice is a professional who lost ground early on and ranked within the last ten; his fellow winners are professionals as well. 

He takes the lead for the consummation. He instructs and encourages. He draws the ceremony out without really knowing why; it's like a goodbye. He comes with his eyes roaming the audience, drinking in the cheers while he reaches around and jerks the sacrifice's cock for them, their excited claps when he puts the sacrifice on all fours and shows him off, leaking and quivering. 

And when it's all over, he walks out of the arena for the last time, set to claim his new estate and fortune, and knowing he'll find himself masturbating all the more furiously while he watches the next games, and all the games after that, on his large screen in his large, luxurious bedroom.


End file.
